and with that, he put the ember out in the center of his palm, a pain to be carried everywhere. A momento to the nonversation, to half-listening, and to feigned interest. A small simulacra of the mutual, the mentholated, the swirling smoke staining the ceiling in benign passing of time. A manilla mask of desire. A tonguing soreness, piqued at will with the wringing of hands -- a ringing informed b...

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There's a strange woman in the flat above

I fear that lockdown has affected her wits

She's started singing in the middle of the night

Mostly Whitney Houston's greatest hits

I put a note under her door complaining

She rang saying sorry for giving me a fright

We're both young bored and frustrated she said

She knew a better way to pass the night

It turns out she's a ...

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